


Courage is Nine-Tenths Context

by Rhap-chan (possibilityleft)



Category: Hero - Moore
Genre: M/M, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-18
Updated: 2009-12-18
Packaged: 2017-10-04 13:00:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/possibilityleft/pseuds/Rhap-chan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I was probably going to be Thom forever, but I didn't really mind.  Someone had to be the public face of the movement, and my place had been cemented there twice: once, when I gave my real first name to a disillusioned receptionist, and the second time, when I gave a fake one to a gay stranger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Courage is Nine-Tenths Context

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cstoplurking](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cstoplurking/gifts).



> Who kept the faith and fought the fight;  
> The glory theirs, the duty ours.  
> ~Wallace Bruce

In science class, we learned that people were rarely pushed to their limits. Human beings have an incredible amount of reserve capacity, Mr. Short had told us, along with the stories of normal people who did things like lift cars off of their children.

I'd always thought that there wasn't much use in not giving everything you had to whatever you were committed to. I'd always pushed to make more baskets, or shadow an opponent closer, do more pushups, or make better times in the League simulator. But I realized, standing there supporting that steeple and trying not to howl from pain and loss, that I'd never been pushed to my limits before. Not even when I saved those kids in the hospital and stopped the Wrecking Balls. Sure, that had short-circuited my strength for a little while, but this was pushing even more.

But after my father's final fireworks show, my thinking process just shut down. I was focused on the task at hand. I couldn't even spare a moment to cry. I held the steeple until Golden Boy and the rest of my crew could herd all of the bystanders out of the area. And then I had a line of people to heal. I broke someone's arm further when I grabbed them too tightly, trying to fix the bone, and after that, I limited myself to bare brushes of skin, holding everything back except the power.

I was pretty good at it by the time that Kevin returned with Larry's remains, collected in an industrial bucket borrowed from a nearby factory, I plunged my hands into the pink goop (still warm, and sort of creepy, I would have thought had I been thinking instead of acting). He rose up like a hilarious parody of Venus Rising, already coughing, and naked as a jaybird. He seemed almost as dazed as I was, uncertain why his feet were stuck in a huge metal bucket, but I couldn't tell him anything. I just stared blankly for a moment before slipping to the ground, utterly drained.

I thought that Goran caught me before my head hit the ground. I knew I felt someone's arms before I fell unconscious.

*

I knew, probably better than any kid my age, that the end of a comic book, when the villain was defeated and the city saved, wasn't the real ending. But watching people rebuild and reassess wasn't really good comic book material. Who would pay to watch my weeks of recuperation and physical therapy? It was pretty dull to me, and I was the one doing it.

I was amazed by how fast things could change, though. The blurry film of my dad's final moments was all over news stations within hours, captured by a civilian with a camera phone and no sense of self-preservation. People were speaking by the hundreds across the nation, recounting old saves and claiming that they had been stout supporters of Major Might all their lives, even after the Wilson Tower incident.

It almost made me sick. One of the vases of flowers that covered my hospital room was from the freshman parents, the ones from my last game that Dad had attended. But the more I thought about it, though, the more I couldn't be angry. It wasn't the public's job to love us. It was our job to save them. Dad had taught me that. None of these people would appreciate my dad for who he was instead of what he did. And that was okay. That had been my job.

Even so, one night I was laying up late with the TV on low (which the nurses allowed, because they all liked me), and on the eleven o'clock news, the President announced there would be new inquiries into Wilson Tower and the Major Might Act. They were thinking, he said, that the legislation and investigation born out of haste and horror should be reconsidered.

That was the first time I'd cried since Dad died.

*

I had a lot of visitors even before I was able to remain conscious for long periods of time. Golden Boy, PR expert, was pretty good at keeping the reporters out, a trick he taught to the rest of the team and the regular nurses, but even so, it wasn't surprising to wake with someone in the chair next to my bed, taking notes on how well I slept or something. I received phone calls from Oprah and Leno and 60 Minutes, people who wanted me to tell my side of the story, but I turned them all down. I wasn't ready yet.

There was someone else I wasn't quite sure I was ready to see, but Goran was always pushing limits. And I was just nervous, anyway, that something might have changed in the two weeks I had lain mostly catatonic. But no-- when he peered around the door my heart skipped a beat, and warmth spread down to my toes.

"Nice digs," he said, lifting an eyebrow, and before I could produce a decent comeback, his brother was rushing past him, grabbing the railing to my bed and staring.

"I saw you on TV! You're a superhero!" he exclaimed. "You're my brother's friend, and you're a superhero!"

"That's right," I said to him, looking past him to Goran. "I'm your brother's friend."

After a few minutes, Goran gave him a dollar bill and directed him back down the hallway to the vending machine. He came closer, towering over me for a moment before reaching down to kiss my forehead. I grinned hopelessly, reaching up to catch his hand, pulling him closer. Our lips met and it was perfect.

"Your dad was so proud of you, you know," Goran said softly when the kiss broke, and I was glad that his brother didn't come back right away (charming a nurse for more candy), because the look I gave him in return for that was something I didn't want anyone else to see.

My dad had been my hero, but Goran was my hero too. And now, I was pretty certain, he was my boyfriend too.

*

They started work on Dad's memorial before I got out of the hospital, but I was consulted pretty much constantly during the process, so that was okay. It ended up being more elaborate than I think he would have liked, but I thought that he had more than earned it for all of the years he spent as an outcast.

The League was heavily involved in the construction, both on a public-relations front and with the actual building. Justice's actions had really shaken the nation's confidence in superheroes. There had been discussion of banning all acts of superheroism, but it hadn't really gone anywhere. After all, as someone pointed out, banning superheroes wouldn't mean that supervillains would stop.

It was strange, I thought, watching the news coverage, to see how small Uberman really was. League representatives had visited me, including Sooz from HR, but I wasn't promising them anything yet. I just stared as the concrete was poured. Sure, he was fulfilling promises, but I wasn't sure what would be next for me.

Kevin and Scarlett came by after the dedication of the site to give me the novelty ribbon that they had helped cut. Well, Larry had held the scissors, so that pretty much meant they'd been stuck holding the ribbon, but it had been a pretty cool thing anyway. I itched to be out there with them, but even though my powers were returning, I was still too weak to get out of bed for long periods of time.

It had been a few weeks since I'd seen Scarlett in person, but I was amazed to see how much brighter she had become. The cancer still hovered in her abdomen, but it was nearly overwhelmed by the bright fire that was Scarlett. When she wasn't choked by anger, she was honestly beautiful, bag or not. Even I could appreciate that.

I could tell that Kevin thought so too. He hardly took a hand off her the entire time they stood there and talked with me. Towards the end of my visiting hours, they both hesitated, and then Kevin stepped forward.

"We got a letter asking us to go back to the League," he said. "Total forgiveness, not even probationary status. We could join other teams or form a new one."

He looked at me, and that's when I realized that they were asking my opinion, like I was the leader of the team. Or maybe it was like asking my permission.

"That's great!" I said to them, watching Scarlett's eyes light with relief. "Larry too?"

"Yeah," she said, but snickered. "They won't let him in the hospital, of course, even though he's getting much better about accidental infections."

I shook my head. He had been getting better about it. His explosion had turned out to be another manifestation of his power, found in desperation just like mine had been. He could now reconstitute himself by will. But he still had a tendency to spread small illnesses when he wasn't paying attention.

I knew a League membership would help all three of them. Scarlett could afford her chemo, Larry could learn to refine his powers, and Kevin was probably about ready to strike out on his own, as a superhero instead of a sidekick.

I wouldn't rule out the possibility of us working together again. We had the right chemistry, even with Ruth missing from the equation-- probably because she was always there in spirit.

But I knew that Dark Hero wasn't receiving a League invite anytime soon, and I had to think about that too, and the future that Goran and I were building. It wasn't a great idea to have superhero parents. I was perhaps the best example of that. And Andro deserved good father figures, a world away from the strife in which he'd been born. Goran was doing a wonderful job, but I wanted to help. I wanted to be part of their lives.

When Kevin and Scarlett went to leave, I reached out and grabbed her hand. The cancer that had been an impossible barrier to me only months before almost dissolved at just a gentle application of power, like blowing out a candle.

"Thom?" she said quizzically.

"I need to come up with a better superhero name before I come back," I answered, smiling, and let her go. She had a doctor's appointment next week. They could tell her then.

She laughed. "How about Mr. Sensitive?"

I rolled my eyes and watched them leave.

*

I was probably going to be Thom forever, but I didn't really mind. Someone had to be the public face of the movement, and my place had been cemented there twice: once, when I gave my real first name to a disillusioned receptionist, and the second time, when I gave a fake one to a gay stranger.

I gave my first interview a week before I was scheduled to be released from the hospital. The first half of the interview was pretty standard. The media didn't know me very well, even if they did know my father's history. They wanted my superhero history and were tickled pink at the hospital rescue story, which I figured would now be spun in a positive manner, plucky heroes finding their feet.

But when I started talking about Ssnake and how I knew he was innocent, the vibrant reporter grew quiet. I looked at her.

"Yes," I said. "I am gay. I'm not going to hide it. I don't think anyone should have to."

She looked down at her personal recorder. Her brow creased as she made a decision. The recorder made a loud click when she turned it off. Her voice was shaky when she spoke.

"I don't think they should either." She smiled a little. "My girlfriend and I... we don't think so."

I reached over and patted her hand, smiling. And even though I wasn't using my powers, I think I took some of the pain away.

She left what I said in the article. And in every interview afterward, I said it again.

Change wasn't going to happen overnight. But I wanted young gay kids to have someone to look up to.

*

I'd been doing a lot of hard things since I found out I had superpowers, but going home to an empty house was one of the hardest. Though someone had very carefully and deeply etched "GAYTARD" into our front door, there was a makeshift memorial on our porch: burned-down candles, wilted flowers, little trinkets, slips of paper. I leaned down and picked one up.

_My sister died in Wilson Tower, but you saved my daughter the second time. It's not the same, but I am so sorry for all of these years._

The rest of them seemed to be variations on the theme. I set the note down where it had been and stepped past it to open the door.

I walked through the place, marveling at the mess that Dad and I had left that last day. There were still torn photographs under the couch. Most of the house was covered in a thin layer of dust. It felt like no one had been there for a while, definitely.

I couldn't think of anything else to do, and I didn't want to think about staying there alone that night, so I started cleaning. It was a good way to keep my mind off of things. I was scrubbing the bathtub when the doorbell rang.

I'd learned to be cautious about answering the door long ago. After all, to some people, the flaming bag on the steps was still the height of entertainment. So I glanced out the front window and saw a dark-haired person with a pizza box. I hadn't ordered pizza, so that was still a little weird, until I saw the short person hovering around his ankles.

"I didn't think you'd want to cook," Goran said when I opened the door.

"We brought pizza!" Andro said, looking up at the box hungrily.

I was wearing old, bleach-stained clothes and my hair was sticking up in all directions, but I didn't care at that moment. I smiled at them both.

"Come in," I said.

*

Later that night, after Andro had fallen asleep on the couch, full of pizza and cartoons, Goran and I were cuddling in an armchair. He ran his fingertips down my arm and said, "What are you going to do?"

I sighed. The house was cleaner, but there was so much to do. How would I pay the mortgage? I'd found the past-due notice in a pile of our mail that I'd sorted earlier. Even superheroes had to pay their bills.

I rubbed at the bridge of my nose. "I don't know," I admitted. "I guess I'll get another job."

Even if I did, it probably wouldn't be enough to keep the house. Dad had been working a lot of overtime to make the payments every month. No job that a high-school kid could get would be comparable to that.

"He should move in with us!" Andro offered sleepily. We both started. We'd thought that the little boy was asleep, but he cracked his eyes open and studied us, sitting very close in that chair. I darted a look at Goran, but his gaze was steady.

_What kind of a role model am I if I'm a liar?_ he'd said to me that day a month ago. I hadn't gotten what he'd meant then, but now I understood. I wasn't hiding who I was. Goran wasn't going to, either.

It wouldn't be easy for him when the news came out. Sure, people praised him right now for raising his sibling, but would they feel the same way if they found out he was gay? That he had a boyfriend? He had a lot to lose.

But he didn't care. Dark Hero was always taking risks.

"I want you to be my brother too," Andro said with a sleepy sigh. Goran squeezed my hand before getting up. He picked up his brother, piggyback, and headed toward the door. I followed.

"I can take you home," I offered. Miracle of all miracles, Dad's car had survived the incident. No one had said anything about the seizures and the fact that technically I shouldn't be driving for another couple of months, so I just had been. But not often. This would be a good occasion, though.

Goran hesitated. Finally, he nodded. "That would be great."

We rode in silence, for the most part. The radio was playing softly, and Andro had stretched out in the backseat (seatbelt fastened) and fallen asleep again. Goran and I were lost in our own thoughts. Even when he wasn't being Dark Hero, he still had that impenetrable air sometimes.

When we arrived, I turned the car off and we sat in silence for a moment. Goran looked over at me in the dark. He seemed almost embarrassed, or uncomfortable, in the dimness. I supposed he wanted to take back his brother's offer, but didn't want to seem rude.

"I don't want you to feel pressured," he began, and I tried to ignore the lump rising in my throat. It wasn't that I'd expected that he'd let me stay with them, really, but having the offer had felt really good. I had felt very loved at that moment.

"But you can stay with us for as long as you like," he continued finally. "It's not pity." His voice was very serious. "It's because you're my friend. And more than a friend. You can probably get just about anyone to offer you their couch right now. But I wanted to be first."

I tried to reply, but the lump in my throat wouldn't let me. Instead, I reached across and hugged him awkwardly but tightly in the car.

"I think I'd like that," I said finally. Goran's arms came up around me, and he held me like he had that night that Ruth was buried. When I was in his arms, I felt safe. I felt like I belonged.

And I never wanted to let him go. The next day I started packing.

*

So there's really no such thing as an ending, even a happy one. There were a lot of people who wanted to write a book about me and my dad and our experiences, but I didn't know where it should begin or end. Should I tell them about my mother? Should I tell them where Invisible Lass disappeared to? About Justice's feelings? About the wedding rings? About Uberman and coming to terms with my sexual orientation? Should I tell them about the factory bathroom, and my first kiss, and how it felt to realize that I was losing my dad forever?

Plus, I felt like I was too young to write a book, or have one written about me. I hadn't even graduated high school yet. Was this going to be the highest point of my life?

No, I wasn't going to let that be true. The Major Might Memorial was only the beginning. There was the structure they were building at the site of the former Wilson Tower. There was the public service announcements I was going to do about littering and public safety and not harassing someone for being gay, because they might save your life someday, and even if they didn't, they were people too.

And there was Goran, and whoever came after him, if I ever needed anyone else. I had a lot to look forward to.

But if I had to choose a place to pause, it would be on a warm spring day, eating deviled eggs and trading jabs with one of the best people to ever step into my life. I could hear the whistle of a train approaching, the wind soft in my hair.

It was a wonderful beginning.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from a quotation by Joseph Epstein. As far as I can tell, Moore never named Goran's little brother, so I named him. Thanks to my roommate, sky_pirate_tat, for a preread.


End file.
